Forget-me-not
by Elizabeth.Finch
Summary: "My father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be." What happens when Mr. Curtis actually means it? Curtis parents oneshot.


**Disclaimer** I don't own the Outsiders.

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**Forget-me-not**

He's washing his hands in the sink and I stare at the water as it turns red like Moses did with the Nile. A slow, creeping horror climbs up my back like a thousand tiny spider legs making me tremble. He knows I'm there but he won't look at me, he just keeps scrubbing at his knuckles. I wonder if I should tell him that there's some spots on his white tank top as well but I don't think I'll be able to get the words out of my mouth.

"Darrel," I say and he doesn't react at all. I plunge on. "I heard Mike got put in the hospital. Said he won't be eating solid food for a while."

Darrel turns off the sink and grabs a towel. He's as calm as I've ever seen him. He looks at me over his shoulder wiping off his hands. They're clean now but I still see the red. "That so?"

I take a step toward him and then hesitate and bite my lip. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," he says easily and leans back against the sink crossing his arms over his muscular chest. I don't speak at first and he gets impatient and waves his hand at me. "Talk."

He's in a dangerous mood, I know that. I've seen him like this before but it's been a long time and the memory never did him justice. I don't understand how my happy go lucky husband can so easily flip into an entirely different animal. It makes me remember the early days, back when we were first dating and before he settled some of this stuff down. Back before he left Mike and his gang and Darrel's blazing rage was much closer to the surface of his skin.

"What you saw isn't what you think it is," I say suddenly. The words jump out of my mouth like a salmon jumping upstream.

"Then why don't you tell me what exactly was goin' on?"

"Nothing. Nothing was goin' on. Mike was just messing with me and wouldn't take a hint."

Darrel is staring right into my eyes when he asks casually but not so casually, "Did you ever tell him to beat it?"

"… What?"

"Did you ever actually tell him to leave you alone?" He is careful to pronounce each and every word slowly and my heart jumps into my throat because I realize in horror that no, I never did. I never said a word to Mike, even when his hand went to my lower back and I can't think for the life of me why I didn't. My silence though is answer enough for my husband and he nods with a scowl. "That's what I thought."

He moves to leave and for some ridiculous reason, I think he's movin' to leave me and the boys. I grab his arm in a panic and it's hot to the touch.

"Darrel, wait—"

My words get swallowed by his mouth and I don't have time to think before he has me backed into the wall and is kissing the ever-loving daylights out of me. It's rough and bruising and I feel one calloused hand snake into my hair to hold me against him until I can't even squirm away.

The sound of our lips parting echoes in the room. He stares down at me and I can't breathe. "I don't wanna talk about this no more. I took care of it, okay?" I don't even know I'm shaking until Darrel's hands slide down my arms and back up real soft and comforting in the way he knows I like. A burning tear slips from my eye and drips down my cheek. His thumb catches it and swipes it away and I close my eyes. He tips my chin up and kisses me again, soft and lingering this time and I lose my breath in a whole other way.

When he pulls away, I try to follow. "I love you, Karen," he whispers and his eyes search my face. The anger has faded, just like that, and now all I see in him is raw pain and my heart aches for the both of us. "Remember that, will you?"

I nod, not trusting my voice and he goes outside to track down our boys for dinner. I watch him go, hear his voice call their names, and wonder at how I could ever forget. Darrel had caught my eye from day one. I was a goner before he ever was but it seems like we've switched places over the years and I can't seem to figure out why or how.

"I love you, too." I say even though I'm alone in the kitchen. I still say it though because it needs to be said aloud.

I won't forget, for both of us.

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**AN:** Please don't kill me. I love the Curtis parents but wanted a realistic look at some problems that they might've had (because no one's perfect). And also, I swear, I'm off to go pack now. Hopefully my next bit of writing will be coming from overseas (I don't plan on stopping).

Finch


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